


Let's See How Much He Can Stan(d)

by CentellaWrites



Category: Gravity Falls, Rick and Morty
Genre: Aggression, Asphyxiation, Begging, Blindfolds, Bondage, Bottom Stan Pines, But there is consent given it's just he's in denial about it, Choking, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Masochism, Painplay, Rick is an Asshole, Spider-walking, Stan is a tsundere, Teasing, Top Rick Sanchez, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Young Rick Sanchez (Rick and Morty), Young Stan Pines, anger management issues, it's hot as hell, just in case someone gets uncomfy with Stan's tsundere-ness, which is basically just teasing the body unimaginably until you cum with just one touch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:40:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24650953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CentellaWrites/pseuds/CentellaWrites
Summary: Originally written December 2015Rick and Stan, after a long weekend of swindling, spend the night in a dirty motel.And Rick can't sleep. Stan is just too hot.
Relationships: Stan Pines/Rick Sanchez (Rick and Morty)
Kudos: 27





	Let's See How Much He Can Stan(d)

**Author's Note:**

> This was written a while ago, and damn even if I'm not into Rick and Morty anymore, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't still into StanChez.  
> I really should work on more fics of them.
> 
> Enjoy this teasing messy gross men goodness!

For among the stupidest of reasons, Rick’s horniness woke him up at 3 am.

Not that he’d been exceptionally good at falling asleep at any time, but at least around midnight proved somewhat melatonin-inducing. Until now.

He thought “stupidest” reason because he was also not exceptionally good at admitting horniness to women, insinuating that he needed them for something. He did, but they must have needed him more, definitely. Who couldn’t?

Men were different, though. Not only could Rick exploit his growing ego against even bigger ones, but he could be a challenging roughness to a fragile one. Just like his own; easily damaged but easily self-repaired. They were all the same, they all knew what it was like to hide crippling insecurities by “dominating” each other. That’s most of the reason why being “underneath” men didn’t cause the same acidic knot in his stomach women did.

Stan was a bit different still. Hit-and-run or not, Rick couldn’t deny to himself that something extra was added into the equation, some warm fuzzy feeling or some shit. It was something. Something even close to what he felt with Lucy 10 years ago. It was something once again unfamiliar, something uncomfortable, something uncontrollable, something he was always in denial of having. But Stan, even though he wasn’t the brightest bulb in the box, could always tell. He always donned that smirk Rick loved so much, that all-knowing smirk of “street smarts trump book smarts and I can see right through you” look that Rick’s defense mechanisms forced him to hide from, but he really couldn’t.

And that was half the reason he admitted to being fine with sharing a bed with the conman, and only now, in this erect and sleep-deprived state, was he starting to fully appreciate it.

He looked over at his sleeping … partner? In crime? Whatever he decided to call him. Stan had the covers up to his stomach, contentedly rising and falling with his deep snoring. He had one hand on his chest, the other under the covers. Despite the coldness of the room, he was perspiring ever-so-slightly, his growing dark hair sticking to his neck. Both men were donned in only a tank top and underwear, but unlike Rick’s which almost struggled to stay on, Stan’s snug his round belly and hugged the curvature of his thick pecs, the faint outline of his dormant nipples peeking through the fabric.

Rick never wanted a type. He was always bent on being unpredictable. But man, did he have a thing for bigger guys, at the very least bigger than him. He wanted to attempt fitting his fingers around their wrists/forearms and fail. He wanted to feel up and down their toned muscled arms, to nibble at the thickness of their necks. He wanted to lick up and down their stomachs, to tease their gorgeous amount of body hair into unbearable submission.

“Goddammit,” he whispered to himself. He lifted the covers, glancing down and shifting his boxer briefs so the tip of his fully erect penis poked from the top. Whelp, this called for action.

He clenched his fist and punched the sleeping Stan so hard in the shoulder he almost fell off the bed. Stan jumped awake, flailing his arms about and reaching for the covers for safety.

“Whoah, whoah, WHOAH!” he shouted, getting himself up in the clumsiest way possible. “Jeeeeeze, what was that fo - ?” Before he could finish, Rick slammed their sloppy lips together, cupping Stan’s square jaw in his nimble fingers. He used his thumbs to rub the stubble roughly.

Stan was caught off-guard, of course, but happily so. After a confusing second of frozen limbs, he shoveled Rick’s drooling face off.

“I can’t sleep,” the skinnier man said bluntly.

“Oh, really?” Stan answered with a roll of his eyes and a smirk.

“I-I-I*BURP*I’m horny as balls.”

“And?” Stan feigned stupidity.

“Do the math, idiot.”

“Rick, you can’t keep punchin’ me in the middle of the night. I’m not at the top of my game if I don’t catch all my Zs!”

“Y-y-yeah, but you love it, right?”

Stan sighed heavily, Rick’s fingers circling around his shoulders. “Part one, no. Part two, I can admit to a bit of a ‘love/hate’ kinda … thingy.”

“Part two it is then.” Rick reached down and started rolling the bottom of Stan’s snug tank top over his protruding belly, the top of his dark happy trail peeping forth.

“But listen,” Stan objected, meeting his large hand with Rick’s much smaller one. “Make it quick, alright?”

Rick pulled his hand back and shrugged, getting antsy. “You know I can’t make any promises, but whatever.”

Stan sighed again, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I meant with me. You can stay busy playing with yourself when I’m do - ”

Rick’s patience was all but worn thin. He pushed into Stan again and met their lips, his own mouth increasing in spit concentration. Despite the bigger man’s muscle mass, Rick was able to pin him forcefully, wrists up against the bed frame, head against the wall. Stan continued pausing, still sluggish and sleepy, but couldn’t hide that he enjoyed this.

Rick grabbed Stan’s tongue with his teeth and lightly skid them across as he slid him out of his mouth, a lingering string of drool connecting the two. With a snicker, he wiped it off with the back of his hand and lowered his head to Stan’s neck. Stan laughed nervously and clenched his teeth.

“Whatcha … um … whatcha planning on doing there, bud?” he asked between unexpected falterings of breath every time Rick reached the sensitive nerve underneath his jawline.

“Here, g-g-get a load of this.” Rick guided Stan’s large hands around his waist, allowing him to maneuver the tank top off his skinny torso. The faint moonlight from the open window grazed the outline of Rick’s body, colouring his poking ribcage with a light blue. Still not letting up on his pinning, he brought the tank top up to Stan’s face and began wrapping it around his head.

“Hey, hey, hey, whoah,” Stan objected again, pushing Rick’s thin wrists aside. “What is this?”

“Check it out, it’s a blindfold, right?” He explained with his hands as if giving a pitch. “Your sense of sight is reduced and all other senses ... ” He walked his fingers up and down Stan’s heaving chest. “... are enhanced, right?”

“Sure, okay?” Stan was cautious but willing.

“So, not only will you not see what I’m doing, but I’m gonna spider walk every inch of hair on your body till you’re a sweating, begging … straining … mess …” Rick inched closer to the other man’s face and lightly entangled his tongue with his own.

Stan face was that of conflicted arousal, both nervous and enticed by Rick’s words and the way he spread them out in his gruff voice.

“You ever had a hands-free orgasm before?” Rick spoke up again after releasing their tongues.

“I-I-I, uh, n-no …?” Stan answered with a question, dumbfounded.

“Then this should be fun.” Rick’s hands were already halfway up Stan’s upper body underneath his tank top, pulling the tight thing off. Stan let him and he proceeded to tie his thick wrists together to the bed frame, then fashioned the blindfold with his own shirt.

Stan was already getting anticipatorily frustrated and Rick hadn’t even started.

After another minute of teasing the man’s neck, Rick lifted his hands away from his body, sitting up a chaste couple inches away. Another pause and he grunted a, “Damn.”

“What, you impressed or something?” Stan asked rather defensive.

“You just …” Rick snorted.

“What’re you laughing at?”

“Gotta say, you look pretty amazing like this, man.”

“Shut up …” Stan could feel his face flushing.

“Dunno why you don’t let me do this more often.”

“I’m hardly letting you do this now.”

“Naah, you’re letting me.”

“I am not …”

“Dude, you so are.”

Stan paused. “Fine, I am.” He shifted in his lying position and Rick spied the outline of a boner through his boxers. “Just go easy on me, will ya?”

“You know me.” Rick reached for the bottom of Stan’s jaw again and roughly thumbed the stubble. “When have I ever gone easy on you?”

“Just - !” He clenched his tied fists. Usually the defense mechanism of choice was anger, but he knew that’s what Rick wanted. Hell, he could even sense Rick was smiling, waiting for the begging to begin. “I mean … uh …” He cleared his throat. “What I meant to say was … whatever, sure. You’re right. Get on with it, tough guy.”

Rick snorted again but proceeded. Getting Stan hot and bothered came a lot quicker than he thought it would, and he wanted to string it out for longer. “Whelp,” he said, lazily running a finger up and down the creases in Stan’s boxers. “Looks like you might need some more room.”

With a speedy yank, the boxers were off, revealing Stan’s penis to the cold air, snapping upward at half-mast. Rick had quite a bit to work with; Stan’s body breathed testosterone, expelling beautiful brown hair everywhere. Specifically a dark patch formed around his treasures, like an arrow pointing downward, or a curtain waiting to be opened before a show. Despite wanting to, so badly, Rick didn’t dare touch the man’s dick; he needed to make this last.

Stan cleared his throat, obviously giving away that Rick had been staring for a while. “Ahem. Well?”

“J-j-j-just hold your fucking horses, buddy, I’m just feasting my eyes.”

“Could you hurry it up? This ain’t a free buffet.”

“Pines, I haven’t even started and you’re begging like a bitch.”

“Fuck. You.”

Rick placed a finger so lightly on Stan’s tummy only the nail was touching. He moved slowly up, circling around the left nipple. Stan caught his breath; the nipple was particularly sensitive. Rick heard him attempt to calm himself, predicting the slow onslaught of teasing.

The skinnier man’s lips curled and he lowered his head, breathing signifying he was about to take the full nipple into his mouth, but he stopped short. Pausing, he pursed his lips, letting loose the very tip of his tongue and pecking Stan’s areola, too light to even make it wet. Rick felt a shiver ripple and Stan breathed in through his teeth.

“God, what are you … what are you doing?” He was still fairly dumbfounded, but a new hint of deep want was devouring his vocal chords.

“Nothin’.” Rick pecked his tongue again, almost like a dog lapping up water. He elicited another shiver.

“Jesus,” Stan strained.

Rick took a peek down and noticed Stan’s cock standing even more on end, getting slightly thicker and longer than its usual 4 inches. His tiny head increased in its definition and his scrotum tightened. Rick was so close to fondling the area with his spidery fingers but restrained, a bead of sweat rolling down his forehead.

He moved his pecking tongue along the small hairs on Stan’s chest, not even touching the skin. He looped his tongue through the especially curly ones, causing the lightest of tickles.

Stan’s gravely voice giggled. “H-h-hey, that’s not fair!” Despite the denial, the laughter kept coming. His full body was in this.

Rick snickered along with him but didn’t stop. He ran the tip of his tongue between Stan’s pecs and down just the surface of the larger man’s full stomach, now heaving up and down and starting to perspire. Stan pulled at his shirt restraints, his arms shaking. He stopped laughing, his mouth clenched. The sensations were starting to become unbearable.

The scientist got to the happy trails. He slipped his tongue comically back into his mouth and exaggerated a hand movement in the air, like a show Stan couldn’t see. Again, with the only the nail of his thin index finger, he rolled a curly-q from one of Stan’s pubic hairs, tugging lightly, pulling not even enough to raise the skin. The anticipation was enough to make Stan squirm.

“W-w-whaa -” was all he could muster before another shiver ran up and down his entire body. Goosebumps formed along his arms and legs, staring up at Rick’s devilish face. He smirked, congratulating himself on what he just caused. He was even happier with the results he got from Stan’s penis, still further erecting; he couldn’t remember the last time it grew this much, standing a proud 6 inches.

Deciding to go further, he bent over and, while still curling his finger against the wiry hairs, took that still dry tip of his tongue and teased another bunch of hairs, slightly rougher this time, but still light. A bead of unexpected drool slipped from the corner of his mouth and dripped onto Stan’s hot skin. Rick sucked his tongue back in and licked his lips, lubing his mouth through a smile, and pressed it to the drool puddle, suckling and kissing the area rougher than before, causing a much more sudden and immediate sensation.

Stan bucked his hips, humping the air. “Whoah, there, buddy, heh …” He smiled through the expectation, licking his own lips and moaning a bit through his nose. Stan was more a laugher than a moaner, but Rick didn’t care; he liked all the sounds he could earn.

As soon as he thought so, the urge to make Stan moan came upon him. He released his wet lips and set up a boundary again, holding back all touch from the man’s body. He straddled Stan’s waist, planning his trajectory carefully. After a second of musing with his hand to his chin, he lowered his body an effortlessly close inch from Stan’s, letting his partner relish the impending presence. He took his arms, stretched his hands, and trailed both his middle fingers up and down the hairs on Stan’s arms, starting from the triceps to the forearms. He lingered on the elbows, his tiny nails making circles that caused another squirm.

Both men laughed; Stan’s a surprised gasp and a giggle, and Rick’s a snicker in his low register, deeper and even more gravely. He always knew how to get what he wanted.

The confidence faltered suddenly as Stan bit his lip, a sight that often sent Rick over his edge. He felt a moan reaching his throat and took one hand off the larger man’s arm to reach inside his extremely tight boxers, relieving a bit of his own strained arousal. His head was at full definition, staring straight at him in its full 8 inches. Rick was legitimately surprised; his tip was leaking.

“Couldn’t stop yourself, could you?” Stan breathed.

Rick didn’t say anything but felt a blush on his creamy cheeks. Both red with annoyance and arousal, he withdrew his hand from Stan’s arm and applied an even lighter touch to his face. He started from the sensitive jaw area, eliciting another deep moan, giggle, and squirm, and moved up and down the stubbled left cheek. Stan had red 5 o’ clock shadow, probably the only part of his body that wasn’t particularly hairy, and Rick teased the stubs so lightly it was as if he wasn’t even touching him.  
Stan struggled against the restraints. He gritted his teeth, then proceeded to open and close his mouth like a fish trying to breathe air. This touch starvation was irresistible.

Rick used the very tip of his fingernail again to ghost along the bags under the conman’s eyes, slowly draining all the control from his begging body. Stan’s eyes were convulsing, obviously shutting tightly. His voice got higher and higher, as if squealing. Rick licked his lips at the sound and reunited his right hand with his penis, pulling the top of the boxers off; it was struggling to breathe. When he fastened the undergarments off, it was at full salute, its underside posing like a statue to the blind Stan.

While slowly stroking up and down his length and teasing his own head, Rick let his left hand drift to Stan’s lips. He could feel the other man’s hot breath, shaking upon inhale from the sensations Rick was depriving him of. His nimble fingers slid their way between Stan’s wet lips and were met with his tongue, hungrily. He was so strung out, so desperate for contact harsher than the centimeter of a fingernail.

Rick took it a step further, another devilish grin on his face, and let go of his dick. He released his fingers from Stan’s mouth and leaned his head closer instead, so their lips were now just an inch apart. Stan felt this, the physical begging continuing. “Rick …” he whispered, his low voice sending shivers up and down the skinnier man’s visible spine.

Rick licked his soaking lips, the drool pooling forth and dripping down his chin onto Stan’s vibrating chest. He breathed on every inch of Stan’s lips but never touched them, not even once, for a good minute or so.

Stan gritted his teeth again, his cock now at full mast, his tip slapping against his dark patch of pubic hair whenever he humped the air, desperate to hit something of Rick’s. “Rrrick …” he strained more forcefully, holding the “r” in his fry range.

The man on top of him was relentless. He continued running his tongue along his own lips but didn’t even give him hope of contact. Stan’s giant fists were clenched beyond belief, his knuckles white. Rick could only imagine he’d want to burst free from those restraints and strangle him.

He inhaled so deeply, Stan could feel it on his face. That one little breath caused his balls to restrict even further, on edge without Rick even touching anything.

“You ready to blow for me, big guy?” Rick purred, now up against his jawline and breathing through his nose up and down.

Stan could hardly make words, just noises. His right arm was struggling to break free from the shirt cuffs, aching to relieve him of this asphyxiation of his pleasure. His nervous giggling was gone, and now it was pure deep moaning time.

“I wanna hear you …” Rick poked his tongue again, that Goddamn teasing tongue, and eloped it around a lock of Stan’s head hair. His locks tasted like sweat, plus the faint Rick musk from the other man’s tank top.

“Fffffffuck, I’m … nnnggghh, I’m ready, mother fucker … j-j-just do it ...” Stan moaned. His breathing accelerated, and he could feel the skin on his penis tighten, veins sprouting forth.

“You sure about that?”

Stan growled at him, his teeth clenched, and if Rick had taken the blindfold off, he’d see a look that could kill.

“Alright then,” Rick droned, feigning innocence. With only the slightest of touches, he laced a finger around Stan’s stimulated length, and Stan blew. A couple short bursts of semen shot through his head, so desperate for Rick’s touch that it expelled instantaneously.

“Jesus, Rick!” Stan begged as Rick didn’t even have to move for the spurts to be conjured further. The syrupy liquid rained on the man’s tummy, decorating patches of hair with whiteness. Rick lapped some of it up, letting a few drops shoot up to his own bare chest. Stan’s salty taste engulfed his tongue, so much so that he shared it with its owner, mouthing over the man’s wet lips, teething sloppily and aimlessly. Stan bit his tongue rather forcefully, relishing in the sudden Rick he was deprived of and expressing his still lingering anger.

“L-l-look at the mess you made, Pines,” the scientist drawled when he took a breath, gently squeezing the last bit of seed from Stan’s pulsating penis. “Glad you paid for the bed this time.” On that last word, Stan let out another growl, still breathing heavily from his angry orgasm. Rick could see him seething, the corners of his mouth fidgeting in lividity. Rick’s penis twitched at the sound, another round of precum dripping from the thin lip of an opening at his tip.

He quickly brought his fondling hand to Stan’s blindfold and restraints, letting them both go, and immediately being overtaken by the larger man. Stan lunged forward, deep-seated rage behind his eyes. “You fucking frustrating piece of shit!” he spat, teeth still clenched.

“Mmm, fuck, Pines,” Rick moaned, the spit from Stan’s steaming face hitting his sneaky cheeks. “Do it, Pines. Fuck me up. Y-y-y-you know what I li -”

Whether Stan knew or not didn’t matter. He cut off Rick’s gloating by fitting his large hands immediately around the other man’s skinny neck, thumbs avoiding the Adam’s apple but applying excruciating pressure everywhere else.

Rick let out a strangled gasp, hands reflexively grabbing Stan’s wrists. He couldn’t fit his fingers all the way around them. His lips curled into a smile, but still attempted to say words, the adrenaline bursting. “Fffff -” He was able to breathe in only to choke one phrase, “H-h-h … hhh …har-harder …”

Stan complied. He knew he was getting Rick off with this, but couldn’t help it; he needed to get this anger out somehow, and all his life up until this point told him the healthiest way to do that was to strangle someone to near death.

But he paused, dull pain suddenly forming in his stomach. Rick wasn’t just “someone” to him. A second passed and he un-furrowed his brow, reconsidering.

Rick let out a fry squeak, the air rushing back to his lungs unexpectedly, and it was his turn to furrow his brow. He balled his fists and hit the larger man’s muscles. “W-w-what …” he breathed, inhaling rapidly, his body begging for both breath and a lack of it. “What the fuck are you -” He stopped to cough. “Pines, don’t be a pussy, get the fuck on with it.”

Calling Stan a “pussy” to his face was good provoking material, and suddenly Rick was just another “someone” to him. He re-pressed his palms to Rick’s neck, feeling the man’s accelerating pulse underneath his thumbs. It was a frantic pulse, almost frantic enough to scare him into stopping.

Rick kicked his knees upward, his body struggling to stay alert, all defense mechanisms at the ready. His cock bumped against his tight abdomen each time he humped the air, waiting for the extra stimulation.

Stan released one of his hands from Rick’s neck and applied it to his penis, stroking rapidly, almost painfully. Rick kicked the bed frame, a loud THUMP rang through the room, the covers bunched beneath their collective weights. The noises he managed were a mix of moans and squeaks, higher than his usual register, attempting and failing to breathe for a solid minute.

Stan, still fuming but winding down, decided to take an easy shot, growing a bit uneasy seeing Rick’s face turn purple. “R-R-R-Rick, you brought this on yourself, but … three … three punches in a row is the safe word, j-j-just … just let me know when to stop, right?”

Rick managed to nod in agreement. His jaw clenched with such intensity the visible connected muscles in his forehead looked ready to burst. Veins popped forth in both his temples and his dick, which Stan continued stimulating mercilessly. Rick’s abdomen moved desperately for air, working their full-year’s worth of a work-out in a minute and a half.

Here came the head rush. The room spun, the comfort of disorientation engulfing and overwhelming him. The pulsation of this rough asphyxiation was enough to cause a full body convulsion, struggling against the weight of his partner. His punches to the bed ricocheted from the springy mattress, his dick feeling suddenly achingly tight, like blood was going to burst from the skin. The sweat and drool dripping from his body and mouth could have drowned the entire family of bed bugs inhabiting their crappy hotel bed.

Stan grew wide-eyed but didn’t stop. It was a bizarre sensation, the want, the need, to make his partner feel good, yet the rush of almost killing him painfully settling in his stomach, making him want to puke. Rick’s lips were a dark hint of blue as they passed the minute and 45 second mark.

Rick was always someone devoid of standards. In every situation possible. But even he knew being conscious for this orgasm was worth the danger and clenched his fists, ready to Uncle. Spots decorating his eyesight, he reached for Stan’s toned arms, and hit him once.

Twice.

But his fist froze at the third.

Stan in turn froze, panicked. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, SHIT!” he shouted, immediately withdrawing his hand from Rick’s neck, his stroking hand stopping completely.

Rick’s eyes rolled backwards and his lungs automatically clung to the air. His chest heaved and he fell backwards onto the mattress. After a full body shiver, he came, his dick standing on end and the boxers bunched by his balls moving with their straining. The colour slowly returned to his face, now at an alarmingly still resting position. Stan could see the outline of his heartbeat in his temples.

His wildly far-reaching cumshots mixed with Stan’s drying ones on his red face and sweating pecs, his small pink nipples standing completely on edge. Other than his dick slowly twitching and his rising and falling frantic chest, he remained painfully still.

Stan was still in a panic. “Rick, buddy? Hey, hey, hey, fuck you for making me do that, ya hear me?” He administered a worrying hand to Rick’s face, absolutely drenched in sweat. “Talk to me, will ya?”

Rick’s pupils darted back and forth underneath his eyelids and he coughed himself back to lucidity. The dark room’s light blue hue flooded to his senses and he got drunk off the mix of stuffy hotel air and post-orgasm bliss. When he opened his eyes, Stan once again panicked.

“ACK!” he shouted.

Rick still couldn’t speak but was now almost fully aware, raising a brow at his partner’s concern.

“I - !” Stan brought a finger up to point at Rick’s right eye. “I broke … I broke a blood vessel …” His voice shook. It was true; next to Rick’s pupil was a dark red patchy circle.

Rick’s breathing slowed a bit and, with his coarse hoarse voice, whispered, “Y-y-you are …” He stopped to cough again, regaining a bit of muscle movement and shielding his face with his arm. “D-d-don’t be so scared, Pines. That’s e-e-exactly -” Another cough. “- exactly what I wanted.” He punctuated the last word with a smirk and an eyebrow wiggle.

“Goddamn …” Stan breathed, backing away from Rick as if he were infected with a disease. “I-I-I-I dunno what came over me …” He looked down at his hands like they were lethal weapons.

Rick let out another spitty cough and was finally able to sit up slowly. “Heat of the moment, dick brain. Th-th-that’s just how it is.” He shrugged. “I’m not complaining, so don’t you go complaining. This is what I, you know … what I wanted you for.” He couldn’t stop himself from shrugging. Even if the headrush was starting to turn to a headache, numbing his senses, he was still at prime denial of Stan’s uneasiness.

Stan rubbed the sides of his arms with his meaty fists, still shaking with uncertainty. “I just … ugh … I’ve never done that outside of wrestling before.”

Rick cocked his head to the side. This was weird; he felt like he somehow wanted to … console Stan or something. “Hey, hey, hey,” he said, his extremely hoarse voice still recovering, and he moved closer to the conman. He trailed a finger up and down Stan’s leg, turning the light touch into sensuality for comfort, because God knew he couldn’t deal with pure genuine concern. “I said don’t sweat it. I said ‘harder’, you made it ‘harder’. You were just doin’ what I wanted.”

“I’m not completely amoral like you, Rick. I still have at least a little soul left.”

Rick debated saying “that ain’t a bad thing” in his head. Boy, did he want to say that. It wasn’t a bad thing. In fact, compared to his own morality, Stan was a fucking Saint. He wished, begged even to whatever forces that be, that he was more like Stan. Only occasionally crooked, only occasionally bad, trembling at the thought of causing sexual but painful pleasure to his lover. Not permanently damaged like Rick, not irredeemable like he was. He was unsure if he’d have stopped when Stan turned blue if their positions were reversed.

He took a deep breath, his first one in a good 3 minutes.

What ended up coming out of his mouth was, “Whelp. That’s the way the news goes.”

Stan sighed with him. “Your eye okay?”

“Fuck yeah, ain’t no big. These things don’t even hurt.” He rubbed his eye with a shaking hand.

“You’re shivering.”

“Y-y-yeah, you know how being high feels, right?”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, it’s the same thing. Just artificial, don’t even sweat. I’m fine.”

“I-I-I-I just, I dunno, I … feel like I’m gonna cause permanent brain defective stuff or something.”

“What, you think something as harmless as a little erotic asph*BURP*xiation’s gonna stop a genius like me?” He suddenly wished he had an after-sex drink, but there was none in sight. His nerves escalated, more uncomfortably than during the choking.

Stan let out another deep sigh. “Well, you did punch and tease me, so … I guess we’re even then, huh?”

“Sure thing.” Rick accentuated that with another playful punch.

“Hope our little adventure got you to sleep, bud.” Stan shrugged, a faint smile peeling across his lips. Despite the choking, he was never good at not babying Rick.

“Man, look at you, caring about my ass.” After retreating slowly to the bathroom to help wipe them both clean, the skinnier man placed his head carefully on the opposite end of the bed where the pillows lay and attempted to get comfortable. He moved the pillows specifically for neck support and made a small pained noise when he placed his head on them.

Stan joined him cautiously. A weird silence engulfed the room before Rick finally started falling asleep. Stan was just about to, but lingering worry prevented him. Once Rick had woken him up, it was much harder to fall back asleep, and now it was downright impossible.

After a couple minutes of staring at the ceiling, he turned and spied the deep red imprints of his fingers against Rick’s resting neck. Another glance at his own hands, another glance upward. He couldn’t help it; he needed to coddle him. He moved closer to his snoring lover and encased him in an arm cocoon, as per the always-maligned but always-needed usual.

Rick would never remember it when he woke up anyway.


End file.
